INDIANA

My Dad snores. He says he doesn’t, but he does. My wife says I snore. I tell her that I don’t, but I do. Some nights my Dad snores worse than others. Last night was one of those nights. I kept yelling at him, “Popou, roll over!” He seems to snore more vociferously when he’s on his back. “Huh…what? What’s going on?” he kept responding groggily.

The net result is that I didn’t get much sleep last night. I awoke weary, in somewhat of a sour mood. Of course, running 43 miles in the numbing cold the day prior probably wasn’t making matters any better. So on a lousy night’s sleep and stiff legs, my expectations going into today weren’t too high.

It was cold again this morning, though in the mid-teens. Yesterday morning it was single digit. The sun was shining, which always gives the outward appearance of warmer temperatures. But I’ve learned that looks can be deceiving. So I started running in my thick red North Face “puffy” jacket right from the get go. It was a good call, the air didn’t crack 20 degrees until after 9:00 AM.

Though when it did begin to warm, it warmed quickly, so I started peeling layers pretty early in the day. And my expectations for the day brightened. Almost from the start today, I was joined by other runners. They had come from far and near, and brought with them much welcomed smiles and good vibrations. In the past two days, there have been over thirty runners by my side. They have bestowed us with food, gifts, and, most importantly, great energy.

Many of those that have joined us have said that I inspire them. The truth is, I thrive on their stories as much as they thrive on mine. To me, hearing about a guy, as father of three, no less, who has lost 120 lbs and run his first marathon, is incredibly inspiring. Learning that someone has driven two days to run with me makes me want to hear all about their adventure and their reasons for being here. Never have I felt such a great sense of community across an entire nation, never have I felt like I was part of such a wonderful clan of likeminded individuals, a unique society built around inclusion and the shared passion of running and health. I know my Dad is feeling the same sentiments, and I have a sense that the others who have joined us are feeling the love as well.

But it all came crashing down at noon. I’d slipped into a gas station to use the restroom, and my cell phone rang. It was my wife, Julie: “Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but we’re having computer problems. I’ve tried for the past three days to fix it, but we need your help.”

The kids use our home network to do much of their research for school, and Julie uses it to do her office work remotely. I was crushed. To think that they would think they’re “bothering me” for calling was devastating. And worse, to think that I wasn’t around to be there for them, to fix the problem, was overwhelming. I lost it. Right there in the gas station I started to weep. “I’m so sorry, Julie, I’m so very sorry.”

“Hun, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. No biggie, we’ll get by.”

I looked out the window and there were a dozen people standing outside waiting for me. Julie explained to me what the problem was, and I told her I would need to think about it and call her back. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with my sleeve, took a deep breath, and walked back outside.

Conditions in the afternoon were ideal for running. The air was cool and crisp, and the sky was clear. We shared many terrific stories along the roadside, laughing and joking as we ran. One by one, the other runners bid farewell, and eventually I found myself running alone toward sunset. I thought about my family every step of the way. I believe it was D.H. Lawrence who said that love is in the wanting, not in the having. My heart felt as though it would explode.

Evening crept up very quickly. The road dropped down into a valley. It was cold, dark, and shadowy amongst the leafless trees. The sinewy brown branches draped lifelessly across the pale autumn soil, a stagnate mist percolated from the undergrowth. I shivered in the dampness, lost and staggering to find some reprieve from this dreary black abyss.

Up ahead was a hill. I could see it off in the distance. The last rays of sunlight where streaking over the top of it. I needed to get there. I needed to feel the warmth of the sun on my face one last time. I put my head down and charged for the summit, throwing my arms into it and heaving my chest forward. My body is still strong, and it responded fittingly. Upward I climbed, higher and higher, until I reached the crest.

Drenched in sweat, I hunched over and watched the sun began its final descent into the western horizon, casting radiant bans of golden illumination into the heavens. I imagined the sun setting over my family’s house in San Francisco. That is where I need to go, I thought to myself. And for the first time since leaving New York City, it seemed like a long, long way away.